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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371420">I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_kiss/pseuds/sakura_kiss'>sakura_kiss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bratty Draco, Draco and Harry are older, Draco is surprisingly excellent with kids, Feminine Draco, Getting to Know Each Other, Harry eventually wants to wife up Draco, Harry hires Draco to be his housekeeper, Harry takes care of Teddy after Remus dies, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealous Harry, Love/Hate, M/M, Mpreg, Murder, Prostitute Draco, Prostitution, Rape Aftermath, Sassy Draco Malfoy, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slowly becomes loving, Top Harry Potter, Years Later, kinda Dom/sub, slight daddy kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:35:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakura_kiss/pseuds/sakura_kiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The War is over and Draco is left alone in a world that despises him. Attempting to make ends meet has proven more difficult than imagined and he's near given up. That is, until he comes across Harry Potter one fated day. </p><p>A story about a lonely boy and the man who's vowed to protect him, even if he is his worst enemy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>232</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone! This is a new drarry story about what happened after the war. Please comment if you enjoyed it! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, Draco wished he had died in that Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. Perhaps then, he wouldn't be here, laying on a stained mattress, next to a man who he's forgotten the name of. Death sounded just as pleasant as dreaming endlessly, Draco mused, as he attempted to drown out the sound of heavy snoring next to him. Draco shifted onto his side, facing away from, what was his name for God's sake? David? Jonah? It doesn't matter really, they all meshed together at some point. Draco's eyes focused on the worn, leather wallet on the nightstand next to him. It would be easy to just take the wallet and pocket the money he was owed. Then, quickly and quietly gather his belongings off the floor and skulk off into the night. But he wouldn't, not after last time he was caught attempting to skip out with a customer's wallet (Draco still had a scar on the back of his head from how hard he was pushed down onto the floor, an audible crack that made his stomach jolt and bubble, little blue and purple circles beginning to cloud his vision as he felt his pants being tugged off.) And yet, laying here next to whatshisname was a little bit of a death itself, as Draco was forced to be reminded over and over and over of what he is and what he's done. The shifting of a body, the moistness of the mattress, the crinkle of a condom wrapper, thrown somewhere without regard. Draco sometimes wished he died in that Astronomy Tower. It would have meant more than what he is now. </p><p>Draco wakes up with abrasive sunlight glinting off the dirty mirror of his cheap hostel room. He doesn't know exactly when he had fallen asleep last night, and as he turns over, he remembers the feeling of a large hand petting him, running through his platinum snowy hair. It was affectionate and warm, something that Draco would remember nowadays. Mr. NoName was gone and it was better that way. The wake up the next morning, the uncomfortable and silent dressing and departing. The man had left the money on the counter, and wasn't that lovely? Most men nowadays attempt to skip out on paying Draco if they can, but that's just the nature of men isn't it? Taking without anything in return? Draco's known a lot of men in his young 22 years of life and he's sure that they're all exactly the same: beasts with no morals.</p><p> His last john was gentle with him, soft touches and kind whispers in his ear. It was nice, Draco supposed, but he knew better than to think highly of a john. His gentle NoName lover of the night had a golden wedding band around his finger and it gave Draco chills every time its cold metal touched his bare skin. Draco could see the slip of a photo in the open wallet on the counter, a wife and a little boy. It didn't bother Draco, not anymore, that most of his clients were married men. Married men, straight men, men with a particular fondness for blonde twinks, men who were kind, men who were not so kind, men who wanted to know Draco was above eighteen, men who would prefer to pretend Draco was younger than eighteen. It didn't bother Draco that his NoName was married, but it did slightly twinge his heart to think the man was a father. And maybe, perhaps, Draco did see certain features in the man that reminded him of Lucius; strong hands, stern but kind eyes, distinguished wrinkles. But that didn't matter either, did it? Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were dead. Executed for participation in the dark side and Death Eater association. </p><p>Draco sat up off the bed, wrinkled bed sheets twisted around his torso and slipping off his skinny hips. He had been losing weight rapidly, something that the John's loved and yet scared Draco to no end when he could feel the chill of Knockturn Alley in his bones. He used to be soft and pink all around, Draco mused as he stared in the dingy mirror. Now all he saw was sunken in cheeks and sickly pale skin. And yet, Draco knew he was still pretty. He had always been pretty. The pretty son of Lucius and Narcissa, dressed in only the finest silks, doused in sweet oils and perfumes, taught French and Italian and Spanish and Russian from the age of three. Draco was even pretty enough to gain the attention of certain Death Eaters, ones that stole sly smirks towards him or roaming eyes as Draco cowarded behind Lucius' leg. It was tradition, after all, for any Death Eater to join in on meetings after they turn ten, brought in by their parents to initiate them into the order. That, as well as the dark mark inked into their skin, into their soul, into every fiber of their being. Sometimes, Draco wished to cut off his arm. </p><p>Ratty shorts that showed off his long and pale legs with a wool sweater that itches more than not, Draco scooped up the money and coins from the counter and shoved them into his pocket. Not enough for a new room, but enough for a decent cup of tea, at least. Draco should be grateful, he knows that. Not many would rent their last room to a former Death Eater, especially the one that was ordered with the task to kill Albus Dumbledore. Draco couldn't go through with it, and yet, he's the pariah of the Wizarding World. So it was quite the surprise, when a little old lady like Ms. Shrew offered her last hostel room to Draco. She had said he had kind eyes, sweet and broken. Draco owes her more that he could ever gain turning tricks. </p><p>It was common knowledge amongst wizards that all Death Eaters were to be killed with no hesitation. This was the only justice for the damage and calamity they've caused. How Draco survived, he still doesn't know. He was apparently too young, in Minerva McGonagall's eyes, to die. She had been kind to him, reminding Draco of little Ms. Shrew. She had always been immensely kind with him and Draco had felt the whips of guilt and shame as he thought back to everything he's done, how he's lived his life and how he's acted. Draco wanted to cry out, "Why?? Why am I suddenly too young?? Why am I too young to die with my parents? The only people in my life I had left in the world! I wasn't too young when I was given the dark mark at age ten, I wasn't too young when Fenrir Greyback had whispered crude words into my ear, and stroked a hand down my back at age thirteen. I wasn't too young when rumors of my binding to the Dark Lord had fluttered around the Death Eater circles, supposedly claiming that I would be betrothed to the overlord himself at only fifteen, a pretty thing for the king of darkness. Why am I suddenly too young to be given the only thing I've ever wanted in my life?? My parents!" </p><p>Draco didn't say a word as McGonagall had declared that he would be spared, that he would be able to see another day. In some ways, it was worse than death, what McGonagall proposed. Perhaps she hadn't seen it that way, but what life was there for a former Death Eater? What else could be worth living now that everyone he's ever loved is dead?</p><p>----</p><p>The tea was shit, watery and bland. Everything was shit in Knockturn Alley. But Draco felt that he belonged here now, amongst the dirt and scum. Diagon Alley was only a few steps north and yet there was a line that Draco couldn't cross. He was dirty, he was cursed and he was not fit to join the denizens of the other world. But that was fine, Draco mused as he sipped his tea, he didn't need anything to tie him down in one place for too long. His shorts left his bruised legs vulnerable to the cold and his skin prickled with goosebumps. It was a far cry from the clothing he used to wear. The latest fashions from Paris, Milan, New York. They were soft and warm and luxurious. They were opulent and flamboyant and pretty. And what was wrong with being pretty? What was wrong with wishing to be a pretty boy? It had certainly been no surprise to Lucius and Narcissa when their little boy proclaimed that he had liked girly things and he had enjoyed boys more than girls (at the time, he had only meant holding hands. Not what he does on the daily now.) His parents hadn't minded. Lucius didn't treat him any differently, still solemn and yet fond and affectionate. Narcissa found this as an excuse to dress Draco like a doll, use him as a mannequin to sew new inventions of her own. His parents were good parents, Draco had confirmed. They had spoiled him rotten. He didn't ever see them as traitors to their own or cowards. They were affectionate and loving and Draco wasn't ashamed to say that sometimes he purposely sought out men who reminded him of his father. For no reason other than missing him dearly. The fact that they looked like his father was usually the last thing he thought about as they pinned him down and- </p><p>The tea was cold and Draco knew it was time to leave. He sauntered down to the little bakery in Knockturn, selling ruffage and old bread, but the owner was sweet on Draco, and Draco wouldn't pass on free sweets. "Hello Dimitri," Draco purred as he entered the door, the brass bell above him jingling in the air. Dimitri Polavich was an older and rough man, with dark black facial hair and a stout, strong build. He had rough hands from back when he was in the military, back in Slovakia, and Draco shivered every time they caressed his skin. It was a funny thought, that such an abrasive man, owned a little bakery now. </p><p>"Hello snowpetal," he said back, words curling off his tongue in a thick Slavic accent. He was a man of his time, showing Draco the affection and care he would a young lady, and that included a multitude of nicknames and pet names. It amused Draco, and he wasn't opposed to being treated like a fragile porcelain doll once in a while, especially when his other clients opted to toss him around like a ragdoll. No, Dimitri was a kind man and a kind lover. Draco was more than grateful for it. </p><p>"How's business today, my fine mustachioed friend?" Draco mused, leaning comfortably against the wooden counter. </p><p>"Business as usual, but I don't expect you came in here just to ask about that," Dimitri scoffed, carrying out a tray of stale breads that were left over from last night. "So what are you doing here, little bábika?" He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk like a particularly smug dog. </p><p>"Oh Dimitri, you wound me! How dare you assume I have an ulterior motive! Perhaps I would just like to visit my favorite person?" Draco preened like Cheshire cat, draping himself against the wall, one leg delicately brought up and showing off. </p><p>Dimitri simply scoffed, "I suppose you say that to all your customers," he huffed as he turned to put away barrels of flour. </p><p>"Oh, on the contrary, ma cherie~" Draco quickly skirted up to Dimitri as he was turning around, wrapping his lithe arms around the man's neck. Draco brushed his chest against Dimitri's as he nuzzled into his neck, the prickle of facial hair making shivers spark down Draco's spine. "I was just wondering if you were perhaps lonely? I mean after all, it's been a while since your wife left you~" Draco bit his lip and glanced up at the man, his cloudy grey eyes as sweet as a doe. Dimitri stared down at the boy, who wantonly clutched onto him, "Draco you know I shouldn't…" he brought a hand up to Draco's cheek, soft and supple, and stroked it with a calloused thumb. </p><p>"Oh please daddy~" Draco whined teasingly. He knew how men worked and he knew their weaknesses and men apparently couldn't resist to feel powerful over another, "I can be a good little boy for you. Maybe I could even work here, just let me…-" Draco's soft little hand worked its way down Dimitri's broad chest, timid touches that trailed down to the edge of Dimitri's pants.</p><p>Dimitri tsked and grabbed the small pale hand, Draco letting out a little whimper. "Draco. Behave." He muttered, taking Draco's dainty wrist and palm into his own. "You know you can't work here, bábika," Dimitri crooned, "It would be too much, we get so busy and you can't even do magic anymore." </p><p>Draco's delicate features contorted into one like a scorn feline, eyes widening and metaphorical ears pushed down against his head. He yanked his hands back and huffed, "Fuck you, Dimitri!" </p><p>"Draco-"</p><p>"And I'm taking this!" Draco snapped as he grabbed a baguette, slamming the door open and letting it close with a loud clang of brass hinges. Draco bit angrily into the bread as he ruminated on Dimitri's words, stomping angrily down the road. All associates of Voldemort and Death Eaters were stripped of their magic, forced to live as a muggle in the world they used to know and love. Usually, a person accused of mingling with dark forces was stripped entirely of their magic and then killed in order to assure they could never come back. But for Draco, the boy who was given one last chance to live, he was granted simple incantations. His wand was confiscated and destroyed, insurance that he would never do any conjuring more advanced that simple levitation and manifestation. Sure, Draco could do cheap parlor tricks: bring objects to himself, make objects disappear, but other than that he was as defenseless as a newborn. </p><p>Draco braced the frigid winter air once more and clenched his fists as he ripped off a piece of the baguette and shoving it into his mouth. It was times like this that Draco missed his cushy little life back in Hogwarts. Warm and dry and full and far away from the scum of real life. But alas, real life does go on and men want a warm body to fuck into and Draco supposed someone has to do it. And he supposed a no-good, dirty, ex-death eater was exactly the right person to do it. What good was he if he couldn't use his magic, anyways? Sometimes, Draco wondered if this was what Professor Mcgonagall had originally planned for him. If this was his specific punishment. She had done well, if it was her intention. The bread filled Draco's hunger, if only for a little bit. He would come back to Dimitri's bakery later in the night, when it was closing time and the older man was getting the store ready for the next day. Dimitri always let the boy chose from the unsold pastries and Draco in return would offer a blowjob or a quick fuck. Dimitri wasn't a bad man. He was simply what he was. A man who was lonely and wanted a young, pretty thing on his lap. And Draco guessed he was a little lonely as well. They suited each other, in a way.</p><p> Draco has nowhere to go during the day. His work was mostly a night activity. Therefore, during the day, Draco more or less wandered the town aimlessly. He ignored the leering from the street urchins that roamed Knockturn Alley during the day, scowling at their outturned hands. He found himself skirting along the edge of town, a ghost in the shadows as he passed the homeless beggars on the streets.</p><p> In the beginning, Draco had been angry. Angrier than he had ever been in his life. He cursed Albus Dumbledore, he cursed Minerva McGonagall, he cursed Voldemort and he cursed his parents for forcing him to join such a wicked and evil group. He was only a child at the time, impressionable and naive and willing to follow his parents' footsteps through thick and thin. They had wanted him to be the proud Malfoy pureblood heir and that's what he was. He was a cruel child, Draco realizes that now, but he couldn't help but feel cajoled into the role of tormentor. He was angry, viciously so. Why was he being punished for their misdoings? He was being dumped back into the world; penniless, alone, and without any substantial magic. Wasn't that a punishment worse than death itself? How was this supposed to be benevolence? The first winter on the streets had been difficult. Draco had nearly been on the brink of death, huddled in the corner with the other degenerates that littered the streets. He had felt his fingers beginning to numb and his once pink lips cracking and Draco knew in that moment that he would die. And yet, he still had been able to pick out Draco's shivering blonde head out of the masses. 100 galleons and a warm shower for a quick fuck. Draco looked up at the man with his desperate grey doe eyes and nodded. That man, face long forgotten, had been Draco's first customer. </p><p>After that night, Draco began accruing quite the reputation in Knockturn alley. 30 galleons for a handjob, 50 for a blow, 100 for a quick fuck, and 300 for a night with the prettiest boy you would ever see in your life. Draco hadn't been on the streets since then and with every man, Draco's anger began to disappear like a flickering flame in a downpour. All that was left was the curling smoke of a once lit fire and all the sadness a boy could hold. Such a life had given Draco time for contemplation and he found that he had no one to be angry with but himself. He wasn't the victim. He was the bloody problem. The boy had chosen to wear his dark mark with pride, all those years ago. He had chosen to treat others like scum, like rats scattering at his feet. He had chosen to fill his life with luxuries and riches, only to not truly appreciate them in the end. Draco was ashamed to admit that at one point in his life, a sickening and low point of his life, he had once been proud to be considered a future bride for the Dark Lord. It was considered an honor, after all. Now, the reminder of his behavior makes his stomach curl and the tea that warmed him and the bread that sustained him suddenly felt like ash in his mouth.</p><p>---</p><p><em>The job never got easier</em>, Harry thought as he walked around the body on the ground, tiptoeing around the strings of blood that pooled out in sticky globs. <em>She was a pretty girl,</em> was his second thought as the flashes of cameras went off around him. It's been two years since he was hired to be an Auror and although Harry swears up and down that <em>he loves his job, it was the right decision for him, and no, Hermione, I don't want to talk to any mind healers</em>, he also must admit that getting calls at six in the morning to say the body of a dead woman was found outside of Knockturn Alley never was never what he imagined being an Auror was. She was a young girl, probably 20 or 21 years old. Pretty blonde girl with a slim build and short hair. Her neck was slit across and Harry didn't have the stomach to look at her directly. </p><p>"So," Ron saddled up next to the brunette, patting a firm hand onto his back, "What do you think? Nasty sight, innit?" He grimaced, making Harry roll his eyes. </p><p>"She has no identification, all her money is still on her person," Harry muttered.</p><p>"She's barely wearing anything," Ron added under his breath. </p><p>"Probably a prostitute." Harry shrugged. "Perhaps a deal gone wrong?" </p><p>"So we have ourselves a regular Jack the Ripper, eh?" Ron sighed, "This is the third one this month! They're all the same too- blonde, small, prostitutes…"</p><p>"Whoever the killer is...he's looking for someone," Harry cut-off, "Someone in particular. All of these people aren't them." Harry's eyes scanned the body, weary and full of sadness for the poor girl. What a grisly way to go, a slow and painful death. </p><p>"Fuck, well if any more bodies turn up like this, we'll have to put a statement out in the news," Ron cursed, "I'll have to tell the higher-up's about this, you know." </p><p>"I know, I know." Harry patted down his pockets and scoffed, "I'm out of cigarettes, I'm going to take a walk and get some. I can't look at this shit anymore," he grumbled, waving back at Ron as he walked down the cobblestone streets, passing the other Aurors that came to investigate the body. Harry didn't come to Knockturn Alley often. He found himself unable to cross the line into the other side of town, the side that lurked in the shadows and filled Harry's mind with inky memories of the past. Hermione insisted Harry had trauma; every time she visited Harry at Grimmauld Place, she mentioned that he should talk to a professional about his recurring nightmares, the sweats he would break into in the middle of the night, and his moments of paranoia and anxiety. Harry scoffed at the idea. The past was the past and what was the point of digging up old bones? It had been a few years since Harry returned to Knockturn Alley and now that he was here, he remembered why he didn't bother to come by anymore. The sight was depressing, grey and murky with sewage seeming down the broken pipes and into the street. Harry made no eye contact as he walked towards the corner store, paid the 10 galleons for a carton of cigarettes, and made his way back to his work. </p><p>Harry nearly tore open the carton, taking one between his fingers and bringing it up to his lips in a satisfied sigh. Smoking had been a new development and in recent years, Harry had developed quite a chain smoking habit. Hermione says it's a coping mechanism, Harry insisted it really wasn't. He had told her before, she doesn't need to check up on him like he was a child. It wasn't as if Harry had been a stranger to the woes of life and god knows he's been able to take care of himself for years. That doesn't stop her from coming over to clean his home once in a while. She had thought about hiring him a cleaner, but Harry had always thought it less than enjoyable to have a stranger in his home. Besides, Harry loved to mention, he had Kreacher, the house elf that presided in Grimmauld Place for decades (even if it was difficult to get anything but an annoyed grunt from the elf.) </p><p>While he knew Hermione only meant well, he wished she would drop the <em>know-it-all</em> attitude that she so loved to parade and as much as Harry loved his dear friend, he couldn't stand the way Hermione sniffed the air with her nose up high, commenting on the smoke smell in the furniture, and grimaced as she swiped her finger against dusty cupboards. With a snap of his fingers, the end of cigarette glowed bright red between his lips. Harry leaned against the cold, wet stone of the wall that separated Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley, taking slow pulls and letting the smoke curl from his lips in contemplation as he watched school children run to the shops to get their last minute goods. Oh, how he wished to be a child again sometimes. Running around with his best friends and visiting Hagrid in his cottage. Now, his days are lined with gruesome murders and empty cigarette cartons and Harry couldn't help but picture that poor girl on the ground, her mascara running down her face and sparkling blue eyeliner smudged. </p><p>A tap on his shoulder- "Hey mister, can you spare one of those~?" </p><p>Harry's eyes peered over his shoulder, his body pivoting on his heel. In front of him was a face from schooltime past. It was a face that Harry could never forget, it stared back at him with the same coy smirk that was always plastered on pink lips. Standing in front of him was Draco Malfoy and Harry hadn't seen him since his trial, almost four years ago. It would seem that Draco was just as surprised to see Harry, his eyes widening and wispy eyelashes blinking once-twice-</p><p>"Potter?" </p><p>Harry's cigarette hung on his lips, barely teetering and the brunette couldn't bother to take it out of his mouth, too stunned to bother. Draco Malfoy looks as if he hadn't aged a day. And yet, he looked older, more worn down. It all flooded back to Harry in that moment and the brunette found himself at a loss for words. </p><p>Draco's hands immediately came up to cross over his chest, holding onto his own arms in a defensive stance. Harry took in every inch of Draco Malfoy: his porcelain alabaster skin that looked sickly pale under the street lamps of Knockturn, his snowy hair that had grown out into a tangled mess, his slim waist that looked like it would topple over if hit by a gust of wind… </p><p>"What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco muttered, eyes averting towards the ground and Harry had never realized how small the blonde was before. </p><p>"Work." He blurted out gruffly, finally taking the cigarette from his mouth and crushing it under his boot. Harry hadn't seen Draco in years and he couldn't believe his eyes as he took in the blonde's raggedy sweater and his holey shorts. His scuffed up knees and his gaunt cheeks. It was like seeing a once prized doll and seeing how it's been used over the years, only to be tossed aside and kicked under the bed by a mean owner. </p><p>Draco nodded, bouncing on his heels. "Right. You're an Auror now, aren't you? I saw it in the papers." He looked anywhere but the man in front of him. </p><p>"Yeah… I'm actually just-" </p><p>"I hadn't seen you here before. Not since-"</p><p>"What are you doing here?" Harry asked gruffly, "You look…." His lips pursed. It was odd to see Draco Malfoy in such a state. Back in their childhood, he had been something of a spoiled brat, boasting about his designer clothing and his expensive cosmetics. The terror he used to be, Harry mused. He looked like a scared kitten now, a far cry from the boy Harry had once known. </p><p>"Is that any of your business?" Draco snapped, his crystal eyes darting up to Harry, then back down to the ground. "I should go, really… I…" Draco turned on his heel, but was stopped by the hand that wrapped around his wrist to pull him back. Harry's eyes glanced down at the sleeve that had ridden up Draco's arm, the black ink underneath made his pupils widen ever so slightly. Draco immediately pulled down the fabric to cover it. "Let me go, Potter," He whined, pulling against Harry's grasp. Harry marveled at the way his hand completely wrapped around Draco's fragile wrist. His eyes turned up towards Draco's face and there, the image of the dead woman flashed in front of his eyes. For a second, maybe even less, Harry imagined it was Draco's dead and cold body lying on the stone ground, delicate neck slit across and crimson blood dripping onto milky skin. </p><p>"Do you have somewhere to go, Malfoy?" He asked frantically, his words dripping from his mouth like jumbled puzzle pieces. He didn't know how they came out or how they fit together, but they did and Harry wasn't able to stop himself from saying it. </p><p>"Let go of me!" Draco fought against him, but when he realized resistance was futile, he calmed down and let Harry grip him with unsure but steadfast intentions. "Yeah, yeah I live...nearby," he muttered, nodding his head back further into the street.</p><p>Harry peered his head slightly to the side of Draco, grimaced, and looked back to Draco. "L-listen," Harry stuttered. "I think you should come with me…" </p><p>"Oh? And why's that?" Draco drawled sarcastically. </p><p>"Because it's...uh, dangerous out here. You know-" </p><p>Draco's pupils widened slightly, Harry wondered what he had triggered in the blonde's thoughts because the next thing he knew, Draco was strolling up towards him, lithe arms wrapping around Harry's neck and Draco's small chest pushed up against his own. "Draco what are you-" Harry's hands rushed up to Draco's shoulders, hazel green eyes widening in shock as Draco nearly purred in his ear. </p><p>"After all these years, you seek me out. I'm sure it's because you've heard of my reputation," Draco smiled, his body pressing sweetly into Harry's. Harry remained stone still, confused and shocked at the sudden action. "Playing out some long-held fantasy, eh Potter?" Draco chuckled and Harry found his back hitting the stone wall, hands shooting down to Draco's waist to hold him steady as they fell back. Draco smelled like cheap candy perfume and cigarette smoke and cold winter air and it made Harry sweat. </p><p>The brunette stuttered slightly, hands feeling heavy on Draco's petite waist. What was Draco talking about? Reputation? Fantasy? Harry's glasses began to fog up as Draco's hands began to stroke up Harry's neck softly. "It's 50 for a blow, double for a romp." Draco's gentle and sweet words felt like a stinging curse to Harry's ears and the brunette nearly flung him out of his arms at the proposition. Draco looked bewildered as Harry panted lightly, staring back at him like the blonde had grown a second head. </p><p>
  <em>Blonde. Pretty. Prostitute. </em>
</p><p>"Malfoy!" Harry gasped out, fingers curling into a fist, white knuckled and red palmed. "I...I need a housekeeper." </p><p>"....Ok?" The blonde teetered uneasily on each foot, arms once again pulling up to his chest. </p><p>"A-and I have a spare room!"</p><p>Draco's eyebrows furrowed. "You want me to..be your cleaning lady?" </p><p>Harry nodded hurriedly, his gelled back hair beginning to fall out of place and he knew that Ron would be wondering what had happened to him back at the crime scene. But he didn't really care. In this moment, he could only really focus on Draco before him and the idea of his little body on the snowy ground, vulnerable and lifeless. </p><p>Draco seemed unsure and Harry supposed it was warranted. "Why...are you asking me this?"</p><p>"Because it's better than being on the fucking streets isn't it?" Harry barked out, his tone surprising himself. It seemed to surprise Draco as well and the boy began to curl into himself even more than before. </p><p>"Find someone else to do your slave work, Potter," he scoffed, turning on his heel and beginning to walk away. Harry watched as Draco began to get further away, his curled up body looking like something akin to an abandoned pet. Harry rolled his eyes and jogged up to the boy again.</p><p>"Listen Malfoy, it's important!" </p><p>"Not interested," he continued walking. Harry followed suit.</p><p>"Grimmauld Place is huge! You'd have your own privacy!"</p><p>"Let it be known that Grimmauld Place belongs to me more than it belongs to you," Draco spat out, "And besides, don't you have better things to do than to chase me? I didn't realize you had such a thing for me~ lovely to see what the Ministry of Magic uses their funds on." he sneered, sharp tongue like always and Harry found his stomach warming at the notion that maybe not everything about Draco had changed. Not his wit and certainly not his beauty, even if it was hidden under dinn. </p><p>"Are you fucking telling me you prefer to let fucking random blokes pay for you like you're cattle and then fuck you in the alleyways?" Harry growled back, getting more and more frustrated. </p><p>"Oh yeah! I love it, I'm quite the little slut you know. No more hiding it now, daddy's little whore huh?" Draco snapped back, his eyes beginning to sharpen in the sunlight, no longer sweet doe eyes but the snake-like pupils Harry had known. It made Harry recoil slightly, hearing such abrasive and crude language come from the mouth of the boy who once told everyone in school that he took etiquette classes as a child. </p><p>"Come on, can you just take me up on this?" Harry groaned, "I'm trying to do you a fucking favor!" </p><p>"And why would you even do that?! We aren't pals!" Draco said exasperatedly, nearly throwing his hands in the air. "In fact, if you do recall, you almost FUCKING KILLED ME IN THE DORMITORY BATHROOMS!" </p><p>Harry winced at such a thing. He was right, after all. He had used the Half-Blood Prince's curse on Draco, back when Harry was sure that Draco had been the enemy, the evil thing in the shadows. And he still was, wasn't he? Nothing had changed between them. They were still just Potter and Malfoy and weren't they supposed to hate each other's guts? So why was Harry so concerned anyways? Who cared if the dirty traitor got jumped in some alley way? Who cared if Draco Malfoy was a hooker and who cared if there was some lunatic out there murdering hookers like him? Isn't that what he deserved? To die like he lived-- a little weasel in the dark? </p><p>But looking at him now: this skinny, pale, gangly little thing...it was hard to justify such a cruel thing. Like he had always said, what was the point of digging up the past, when they were buried under layers and layers of resentment and denial. Harry sighed, pushing up his glasses from the bridge of his nose and running his hand through his now loose hair. "Listen, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, alright? Just… I'll send you my address via owl. You can floo to Grimmauld if you'd like." Harry was about to turn around, about to go back to his work and pretend like he had never seen the blonde wisp of a boy because it was likely that he would never hear from Draco again anyways. He would turn away, go back to work, then go home and drown his embarrassment and sorrows like he always did: in a bottle of scotch and a pack of cigarettes. </p><p>Draco bit his bottom lip and a gentle 'wait' made Harry stop in his tracks and whip around. The boy hadn't moved an inch from his place in the road, looking down at his scuffed up shoes and red rubbed knees. Harry gulped as he watched Draco brush the hair from his eyes and sigh. "I can't...use the Floo. I'm not allowed." </p><p>Harry nodded, coming closer to the boy and pulling out his wand from its harness. With a flick of the wrist, a paper appeared with Grimmauld Place's address, the ink fresh and still dripping. "Here," Harry said as she passed the paper to Draco, watching as the boy caressed the paper with his thumb for a second before folding it and shoving it in his back pocket. Harry nodded, "Well..alright then. I guess I'll..." He muttered</p><p>"I can barely clean," Draco blurted. "And I'm useless when it comes to cooking. I would be a pretty shit housekeeper" He was blushing, pretty pink flushing his cheeks and Harry wondered what it would look like all over his milky body. He couldn't meet Harry's eyes, as if he was shy to admit he could barely care for himself. Harry smiled and sighed, brushing a strand of loose hair back behind Draco's ear. </p><p>"Well, then. You'll have plenty of time to learn." Harry drawled. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>New home, new feelings.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! New chapter! I hope you all enjoy it :) please comment!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco gripped the paper in his fingers tighter as he walked through the stone arches that separated Knockturn Alley from Diagon Alley. The idea of actually going to Grimmauld Place filled him with dread and Draco had spent over an hour trying to decide what to bring with him to his new home. Draco contemplated in front of the mirror that morning: what does one wear to see his once enemy turned housemate employer? He doesn't remember his mother ever teaching him about this type of situation and therefore, Draco was left grasping for straws trying to figure it out. But, he knew that Narcissa Malfoy, god rest her soul, would be aghast to see her son wearing anything but the best clothing to see one's companions, let alone the boy he had once swore to destroy. Therefore, Draco had scavenged through his wardrobe, deep inside the back, to find the clothing he had been able to salvage from his estate before he was rather violently evicted. As it turns out, association with Death Eaters <em>doesn't</em> overrule home ownership and inheritance in the eyes of the law; who knew?</p><p> In the back of Draco's broken-down little closet, he pulled out a heaving wooden trunk by it's metal brass knobs. He hit the floor with an 'oof' when the trunk finally was breached from its hold and Draco rubbed his ass, wincing as he did so. The trunk was made of shellacked maple wood, decorated with swirling clouds and delicate flowers. It housed the only momentos he was able to bring with him from his old life: photographs, postcards, clothing, and trinkets. He hadn't looked inside the trunk since he had first placed it in the back of his wardrobe, but he would be damned if he would leave it behind. He stood up from the floor, sighing as he did so. Draco gently waved one hand above the illustrious trunk and in a flash of soft light and golden sparks, it disappeared from its spot. This was the extent of Draco's powers now, simple parlour tricks. He was able to apparate things away, something that a child could do in their first year of schooling. The Ministry had deemed Draco a non-threat to society and therefore allowed him to keep the simplest of incantations. <em>Mercy</em> they had described it. <em>Rubbing salt in the wound</em> Draco deemed it. He apparated the suitcase to Grimmauld Place, not wanting to be bothered to drag it all the way there. </p><p>Harry still refused to tell Draco what this was all about, why he was so intent on moving the blonde. One would think he'd be less than pleased to see Draco alive. Afterall, he was his childhood bully and actively tried to conspire against Dumbledore himself. McGonagall had begged the Ministry for mercy. <em>He's just a child</em>, she pleaded, <em>he was brainwashed by Voldemort</em>. Draco remembers the trial like it was yesterday; he saw it in his nightmares and what he remembers the most were the eyes of the Ministry Members that stared at him, through him. Draco after the war had fled with his mother to their Southern French home, hoping to hide there from the authorities. Draco remembered with fondness what it was like for those first two months. Without his father at home, Narcissa had deemed it quite laissez faire in the Malfoy home and rules were thrown out the window. While Lucius had understood Draco's proclivities towards men, he had been quite adamant that Draco dressed and acted like a pureblood gentleman, keeping in the grand tradition of pureblood gentlemen of their family. They couldn't risk upsetting the Dark Lord, afterall. But upon escape, Narcissa had taken Draco out before they holed up at home. She took him from store to store, choosing the most expensive and beautiful outfits she could find and for those two months, Draco lived like a child once more. He laughed, and danced, and drew, and read, and sewed, and had tea parties with his mother in the garden. He wore glorious dresses and jumpers and skirts and heels and whatever else he could imagine and he ate with wild abandon, cakes and pastries and sweets.</p><p><em>He was happy. He was free.</em> </p><p>
  <em>Until he wasn't. </em>
</p><p>The trial was held in the Ministry, Draco and his mother locked in cages like animals. Narcissa had been sobbing, but her tears were drowned out in Draco's ears by the incessant chattering of the Ministry that surrounded them on all sides. They had all been there, when Narcissa was sentenced to death. Draco remembered it so vividly, he could repeat his mother's final words from rote memory. And he was there too… Harry Potter. He had been there, hidden in the crowd with his rowdy band of misfits. He remembers Ron Weasley's smile: cruel and toothy. He remembers Hermione Granger cowering behind the Ginger cad, not bearing to watch. In that moment, Draco felt most apologitory towards her. </p><p>And then there was Harry Potter. Draco could make out only one word from his lips as he stared on at him, eyes never wavering. </p><p>
  <em>O...Co...Dra...Draco</em>
</p><p>"Draco?" </p><p>The blonde blinked rapidly, turning towards the sound of his name. Ah, right. He was in front of Grimmauld Place now. And there was Harry, like a ghost from his memories, staring at him once again with his wide hazel eyes . He looked… confused and slightly concerned, perhaps because he had been calling Draco's name for the last minute and the blonde stood as still as a statue, frozen in place. </p><p>"Are you alright?" Harry asked, tightening his cardigan around him. Draco blinked once more, his head swimming as he tried to make sense of the words before him. The blonde simply nodded his head in wide swoops. Harry seemed unconvinced by Draco's response, furrowing his brows but sighing all the while. "Well...alright, come in then. It's bloody freezing." He stepped aside to let Draco inside, closing the door with a heavy thud behind them. Grimmauld Place was exactly as Draco had imagined it to be. He had only seen photos of the famed Black Ancestral home and he had always thought the place to be dingy and dark. Turns out, Draco had been correct. The entire home, three floors in total, looked as if it had been left in the 1800s. The original wood flooring had been kept, making it creak and groan with every step across it's paneling. The walls were stained, wallpaper peeling in some corners as spiderwebs grew in others. The furniture, although lovely, was antique and dusted settled off it every time Harry would touch it. A rather macabre house, in Draco's opinion. The family portraits on the walls all perked up at the sight of the strange blonde child, peering in closer through their frames and muttering between themselves (isn't that Bellatrix's nephew?) And then it dawned upon Draco one single fact. </p><p>He was meant to clean this decrepit shack?</p><p>"Your luggage appeared here," Harry muttered, his hands tightly wound behind his back as Draco looked around the home. "I had it placed in your room." He added, watching with uneasy interest as the blonde dragged his fingers across the mantle of the fireplace, cringing at the dust that was collected on his fingers. </p><p>"If you expect me to clean this entire house by myself, you're sorely mistaken," Draco scoffed, turning on his heel to stare at Harry straight on. These years have treated Harry well, Draco thought as his eyes scanned the brunette's face. While Draco himself had stayed more or less the same in terms of appearance, it seems that Harry had taken on a new sense of style. A fine beard had begun to sprout on Harry's cheeks and chin and Draco wondered if it was intentional or if the man couldn't find the time to shave his morning shadow. His cheeks, no longer soft with childhood tenderness, have hardened and have become concave shallow pools on his face. His jaw has sharpened to a deadly point, strong and sturdy and making Draco's own stomach warm deep down. </p><p>The comment made the brunette's eyebrow twinge upwards, his lips turndown in displeasure.</p><p>Harry scoffed, letting a snide chuckle out from under his breath. "Yes, well. I should have expected a brat like you to not be capable in housework." The comment slithered out like a snake from Harry's lips, wrapping around the blonde's neck and making his cheeks burn. Draco couldn't blame Harry for his sour attitude towards him. He deserved it after all these years, but the remark still did leave Draco's mouth dry. He had endured his own comments from others: princess, brat, dumb blonde, snake, traitor-- and while Draco's responses back usually involved a hex or a spell, he found himself defenseless now and like a angered child backed into a wall, all he could do was spit back. </p><p>"Why did you even bring me here? I doubt it's because you cherish seeing my face everyday." Draco retorted with his hands on his waist and his hip cocked. He broke his eye contact with Harry, no longer able to stare too long at the man before him. For some reason, Draco's cheeks became hot every time he stared into those forest green eyes. A cold, perhaps? Or perhaps it was the blind hatred that he had once felt for the man, curling its way back up Draco's spine.</p><p>The brunette rolled his eyes, ignoring Draco's tantrum. He called out for Kreacher, the Grimmauld Place house elf, and attempted to not snicker at Draco's exasperation: his little foot stomping down on the ground and his mouth running like a jabbering little bird. "Kreacher," Harry began as the wrinkled elf appeared, "Take Malfoy to his room, please." </p><p>"Kreacher doesn't take orders from non-Black blood," the elf rasped out, his beady eyes narrowing at the man. An issue Harry had found early when he first was moving in: while Harry was Sirius Black's godchild, he technically was not of Black blood. Kreacher, a house elf of tradition and solemn family loyalty, found no reason to heed the requests of Harry Potter: a man of no familial blood. While he does begrudgingly follow some of Harry's orders, he does so in a slow and unorganized manner. Harry sighed, wondering if Hermione would be smug if she saw him groveling to request something of his house elf.</p><p>"Kreacher, please," He whined, temper ticking away as Kreacher continued to refuse and insist that Harry wasn't worthy of Grimmauld Place's hallowed halls. Before Harry could continue this excruciating back and forth, Draco stepped up before Harry, slip and pale fingers coming up to shush Harry's mouth. The blonde pulled the sweetest smile he could, tucking a hair behind his ear as he peered down at the elf. </p><p>"Kreacher," he sing-songed. "Would you be so kind to show me to my room?" Pretty slate eyes were wide like a doe's and long blonde eyelashes blinked with innocence laced intention. Harry watched from behind the smaller man, amazed as Kreacher's straight deadpanned lips began to curl into a smile of too many sharp teeth. </p><p>"Of course. Kreacher is happy to serve Master Draco," he cheered in a high pitched nasally tone, bowing before the blonde and receiving a curtsy back from Draco. Harry's eyebrows furrowed as Draco looked back at him, a smug smile on his pink lips. He looked like the cat that got the cream, his dainty nose in the air as he climbed up the spiral staircase towards the second floor, following the hobbling little house elf. Harry simply pursed his lips and walked towards the kitchen. The second floor looked as rundown and rickety as the first and Draco found himself missing his one room home with Ms. Shrew. They passed dozens of doors, each the same exact style and color. Cobwebs hung in the corners and the carpeting did little to stop the creaking of the floor which made Draco worry that he'd fall right through if he were to step too hard. The walls were littered with pictures of owners' pasts, each a new family member that Draco had never had the pleasure to meet. They looked quite the wild bunch, he thought. No doubt that was the cause of his mother's rather cavalier and eccentric tastes. Not to mention his Auntie Bellatrix: the woman was absolute menace to society. </p><p>The thought of his family made Draco's heart ache. He decided not to look at the photos anymore. </p><p>"Here we are, Master Draco!" Kreacher chattered in glee, throwing open the last door in the hallway, tucked into the corner of the floor. Draco walked into the room gingerly, ducking his snowy head inside. This room was not as awful as the others, but in fact, the rather stark difference in rooms had thrown Draco for a loop. While the other rooms reminded Draco something of the Slytherin Common Room, this one seemed to have been designed by someone else entirely. It was evident that someone had done repairs in this room before Draco had arrived since the disintegrating hardwood floor had been patched up enough that Draco didn't fear for his life with every step (it still creaked lightly but that seemed to be inevitable). A large white and pink carpet had been thrown down in the middle of the room and it reminded Draco of the rather large Persian rug in his grandmother's house-- antiquated and yet sickly sweet. His chest lay in the middle, a dark contrast to the cotton candy walls surrounding it. The walls were stripped of their peeling wallpaper and painted over with a light pink paint that reminded Draco of melted bubblegum. The heavy and moth-eaten window drapes were replaced with white doily lace curtains and accentuated a large bay window; all equipped with a cushioned windowsill that allowed for perching and looking outside. A white stone fireplace was built into the wall as well and Draco couldn't help but think it was quite garrish. </p><p>But if it wasn't these things that surprised Draco first, then the bed had definitely taken the cake. The bed was something straight out of a child's fairytale. White painted wood (covering the chips and dents) made way to a light blue and white duvet that was decorated with flowers and butterflies and other woodland creatures. The headboard was carved with swirling patterns and the entire ghastly thing was covered by a sheer sheet of dainty white mesh: a canopy bed. </p><p>The entire room looked like a macabre barbie doll bedroom. Draco felt as if he'd get a sugar rush simply looking at it. While he enjoyed simple feminine touches to his aesthetics, he had to admit that this room was a shot to the senses; an overload of girlish charm. The entire bloody room looked as if a child decorated it. Perhaps in his youth, this room would be something that Draco begged his father for, but now that he's an adult, he can't help but feel as if he had been regressed into his youth. </p><p>"Um...Kreacher.." Draco began, a nervous smile on his lips as he walked around the room, "Is-is this really <em>my room</em>? Isn't it a bit too…" </p><p>"Master Potter had insisted on these decor choices." The house elf groaned, a displeased turn of his wrinkled lips. "Kreacher told Master Potter that this room was not suitable for the son of Madame Narcissa Black, but Master Potter shooed Kreacher away." </p><p>Draco's cheeks rushed red at the mention of Harry. So, it was the golden boy cad who had decorated this disaster. The blonde sat down gently on the bed, small fingers running mindlessly against the sewn in creatures on his duvet as Draco's eyes moved inch-by-inch around the room. "Why did he think I would like all of this?" Draco asked softly. What he would really like to ask is <em>why did he do all of this for me? </em></p><p>"If Master Draco wishes to change rooms, Kreacher would be happy to-"</p><p>"No!" Draco squeaked, his fingers gripped the duvet. He bit his bottom lip and cleared his throat. "No, Kreacher, thank you. That's quite alright." The pink of his cheeks was slowly creeping down to his neck and Kreacher wondered if the young master was ill and if perhaps he'd like a cup of tea.</p><p> Kreacher narrowed his beady eyes, but eventually nodded. "Kreacher will allow Master Draco to unpack his belongings. Kreacher will be back with tea for the young master." And with a poof, the house elf disappeared.</p><p>The blonde let out the breath he was holding, letting his head swing down in exhaustion. With a deep breath, Draco sat back up and brushed his long hair back behind him. He sat up from the bed and walked towards his chest and sat down on the carpet in front of it, legs criss-crossed. With careful fingers, Draco began fiddling with the locks, a satisfied smile growing on his face as the lid popped open. Sitting at the top were his fragile momentos: family photos, his mother's glass figurines, his father's watch. Underneath that were the piles of letters he managed to sneak past the Ministry Guards that had been assigned to monitor him. Naturally, they wouldn't trust him to rummage his house by himself and it was fairly certain that any correspondence between Draco and his family would have been confiscated. But Draco couldn't bear the thought of his precious letters being taken from him, so he managed to charm them with what little powers he had. A simple camouflaging spell. Draco's fingers caressed the aging parchment, tracing his fingertips across the ink blots that had fallen and following the curve of each letter. His heart once again ached and Draco decided it was time to tuck them away. His clothing, on the other hand, were nearly begging to be taken out of their entrapment. If Draco concentrated with all his energy, he could make his clothing levitate towards the drawers and closet, but halfway through, he found himself mentally tired and therefore the clothing dropped from the air that they were suspended in. Draco let out a small groan, scooping up the fallen articles and setting them on the bed. Folding clothing by hand was a tedious task and Draco wondered how muggles weren't driven to madness by their mundane lives. </p><p>He had little clothing to put away and the sight of how little space they took up in his new closet made him wince. It was pathetic, wasn't it? A sad sight. Draco tried to not dwell on the fact his belongings were all able to fit in one chest, deciding instead to focus on how he was going to display his momentos...if Harry would allow him of course. Perhaps he wouldn't cherish the photos of former Death Eaters to be hung up in his home. Draco hated the thought that Harry might destroy them, therefore the blonde shoved his photos into the bedside table drawer and shut them away. </p><p>The unpacking didn't take much time and therefore Draco found himself forced to rejoin Harry downstairs. He braced himself for an awkward meeting again, gently stepping down the stairs, perhaps if he didn't make so much noise, Harry wouldn't be alerted to his presence. Well the brunette bastard seemed to have impeccable hearing as he immediately poked his head out from the kitchen when Draco landed on the ground floor. Harry came out from around the corner holding two saucers, each precariously balancing a cup of tea. His hands slightly wobbled as he carried them, the china clattering with each step. Draco whispered a gentle 'thank you' as he took the cup from the man. A pretty white china tea cup, Draco mused. He brought it to his lips and sipped. </p><p>"I hope the room was, uh" Harry cleared his throat, "Satisfactory?" </p><p>"Yeah, if I was a 12 year old girl," Draco couldn't help but mumble bitterly. He doesn't know why he was so taken aback by the room, it wasn't as if he disliked it. It was….charming and pretty and it reminded Draco of the doll house his cousins used to play with. But the idea that Harry had purposely chosen it for him made Draco's insides bubble. </p><p>"Well, I thought it was appropriate for a pretentious princess like you. Besides, I thought you liked all that fluffy crap, " Harry scoffed back under his breath, nearly downing his tea in one gulp, ignoring the scalding hot liquid burning his throat. Draco remained quiet, looking down at the amber tea in his cup. </p><p>"Thank you," he muttered back softly, not daring to look Harry in the eyes. He hadn't denied the first comment and Harry found it odd he didn't have his usual witty retorts armed. </p><p>Harry blinked and looked away, his own skin beginning to heat up. "You're welcome," he said back gruffly, walking back into the kitchen. While the brunette fiddled around with the kettle once more, pouring himself another cup, Draco found his way to the couch, sitting down carefully. He curled up and tucked his legs under him, trying to take up as little space as possible. </p><p>"So…" Draco began, unsure where to even start with conversation. "Do you live here alone?" </p><p>"Uh… yeah," Harry responded from the kitchen, glancing back at the blonde. </p><p>The silence that fell between them lasted what felt like forever. Draco attempted to keep occupied by having his eyes scan the room, take in every detail of his new home, but what else could he do? How exactly does one strike up conversation with a man he had sworn to hate with his life? If Lucius was alive, he'd throw a fit knowing that his son was conversing with Harry Potter, let alone becoming his flatmate. Harry seemed to also notice the tension, refusing to meet eyes with Draco, even as he sat down on the loveseat across from him. </p><p>Draco's mouth opened, perhaps he'd comment on the architecture? Or the bedroom again? But Harry beat him to the punch and started up, "Listen...I have to go into work soon." </p><p>Draco's lips shut abruptly. "Y-yeah that makes sense," he stammered as Harry went up the staircase, leaving the blonde alone once more. By the time he had finished changing into his work attire, Harry had noticed that Draco didn't move an inch from his seat-- tightly wound and skittish it seemed. </p><p>"You don't have to look so scared, you know," Harry half chuckled, slicking back the strands of hair that were sticking out. He was slightly amused to see Draco squirm. It was both entertaining and endearing to watch. He looked more...innocent now. Less sharp and malevolent. It was like growing up with an angry and vicious kitten only to realize years later that they were just scared. Draco attempted to calm down, sitting back in his seat and uncrossing his legs. Harry's lips curled at the corners, only slightly. "I'll be back late." </p><p>"Ok… what should I do?" Draco's posh little nose scrunched up, looking around the living room.</p><p>Harry hadn't really thought this out. He had asked Draco to come in as his housekeeper, but in all honesty, did he really expect the blonde to be on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor? (Although, the sight might not be that terrible). "Um...just...get comfortable, I suppose. There is a television if you'd like to watch something. And Kreacher will be here if you need anything." </p><p>Draco's eyebrows furrowed slightly, "What in Merlin's Name is a tellie-vision?" </p><p>Oh. Right. Most technology from the Muggle World hadn't been introduced to the Wizarding World; a fact that Harry had become quite familiar with when Ron's own father had asked him what the point of a telephone was when people could simply owl letters to each other. After all, what was the purpose of a television when picture books came to life and words could manifest in thin air. Harry had specifically remembered to bring a television with him the next time he was in the Muggle World and although he only can get spotty reception, it was substantial enough, broadcasting Muggle news channels as well as some reality shows. Harry supposed that Draco would have never seen a television before, considering Purebloods had always been known to cherish traditional wizarding methods of leisure and entertainment. </p><p>"Uh, here. I'll show you." Harry scurried over towards the large box tucked away in the corner. He wheeled it out to the front of the living room, feeling a rush run down his spine as he watched Draco's confusion turn into interest. The blonde scooted closer to the edging of his seat, blinking in surprise as Harry fished out another, smaller black rectangle from the drawer. He sat down gingerly next to Draco, making the boy scoot in slightly to watch Harry's actions. "Look, this is the remote," he began, "And you press these buttons to control it." Harry pushed the 'on' button which made the TV come to life and shock Draco entirely. "See, you can change the channels with the buttons as well," he demonstrated for the blonde, who watched with wide doe eyes and keen interest. </p><p>Draco sat up from his seat and walked over to the TV box, sitting in front of it on the ground, legs criss-crossed. His eyes were transfixed upon the people on the screen, watching as the morning news in London played. "Hello?" He asked the TV, frowning in frustration when he noticed that the news hosts wouldn't speak back to him. They simply kept on with the daily weather and the sight of Draco trying to understand television made Harry try to stifle his laughter. </p><p>"They can't hear you, it isn't like the photos or the newspapers here." Harry said as he sat up and walked over to Draco. </p><p>Draco frowned, avoiding eye contact with Harry as he came closer. "Of course!" He boasted, chest puffed out, "I-I knew that!" Harry watched as the blush on Draco's milky pale cheeks began to spread down his neck and up to his ears. Oh Malfoy, always trying to boast his own ego. </p><p>"Here, take the remote and try changing the channel." Harry handed the remote to Draco, watching as the blonde began clicking through the buttons with childlike amusement. Harry could stay there and watch Draco figure out the television all night, but the sudden ring of the grandfather clock on the wall made him flinch and join reality once more. He looked down at his watch and cursed, "I gotta go, Malfoy. I'm going to be late for work. I'll be done later in the night." He called back as he rushed towards the door. Draco gave no response back, simply too transfixed by his shiny new toy. Harry smiled, finding he didn't really mind.</p><p>---</p><p>"This shit is getting out of hand, mate." Ron groaned. They had just come back from a meeting with the head of the Ministry. Apparently, their Jack the Ripper had struck again; this time, attacking a boy just outside of the Leaky Cauldron last night. Harry tried to push out thoughts of Draco from his mind as he looked at the photos of the victim, pretty blonde hair and cold blue dead eyes. "What am I going to say to Hermione? She's worried that the streets aren't safe anymore." Ron rubbed his aching neck, groaning in pain as the elevator dinged on their floor. Harry rushed out first, startling Ron who jogged forwards to catch up. "I mean, what's up with this guy anyways? He has a thing for blondies? In my opinion it's a rather shitty fetish." </p><p>"Ron, please just shut up. I don't wanna talk about this anymore," Harry barked as he rushed towards the Floo station. </p><p>"Well isn't someone in a sour mood," Ron whined, "Seriously, Harry, what's got your knickers in a twist?" </p><p>How exactly was Harry supposed to explain to his best friend and work partner that he was currently harboring an ex-death eater in his home and to top it off, this particular ex-death eater was none other than Draco Malfoy, the bane of their childhood existence and Oh! Let's not forget that Harry was also trying to protect him from a fucking prostitute murder with a penchant for little blondes like him? The entire ordeal was too exhausting to deal with, knowing that Ron would absolutely throw a fit. Harry looked down at his watch, 8:14 pm, and sighed, "Nothing, Ron, I'm just tired, ok? I haven't been sleeping well." </p><p>Ron nodded, "Right. That makes sense. I mean, Ginny has been gone a while now, so it must be difficult." He didn't notice as Harry tensed up in his spot at the Floo, suddenly looking as if death itself had gone through him. "Well it's a good thing she's coming home in a few days right?" Ron continued, taking out his wand. "I'll see you tomorrow man," he said as he swished his wand and disappeared in an instant, no doubt eager to scurry home to Hermione. </p><p> Harry instead was left alone, dread twisting his stomach into knots. Fuck, how could be forget about Ginny? She's been gone for a month now, investigating medicinal herbs in the south of Ireland and Harry had entirely forgotten. And now, Harry's found himself in a situation; the proverbial space between a rock and a hard place. Ginny was bound to notice a certain snowy haired brat in his home and was most likely going to be less than pleased. But then again, that wouldn't be new. Harry remembered the day she had announced her trip; it had been right after one of their more spiteful fights and she had thought throwing it in Harry's face would be better cannon fuel. If Harry was honest, he doesn't remember exactly when they started to become one of those couples: the type that stayed together for the sake of their friends and family. In the beginning, when everything was new and shiny and fresh, it was easy to fall in love. </p><p>The War had just ended and Harry found himself hopped up on a mix of adrenaline and utter loneliness. Ginny had just seemed to be the best choice and somewhere along the way, they had paired off. And it was good...for a while. At first, it had begun like any new relationship: words of endearment, constant letters back and forth, stolen kisses in the streets, and enough sex to last a man a life time. Ginny had always had a crush on him, Harry knows that. But as time marched on in it's steady pace, he's come to realize that she perhaps loved him for what she knows about him: The Chosen One, The Boy who Lived. It was easy to fall in love with someone that seemed larger than life itself and Ginny was more than happy to live in the grandeur of it all. But like all things, the War has come to an end and Harry is no longer the Golden Boy of Hogwarts. He's simply a man and Ginny found herself becoming less and less attracted to the Harry that was underneath that Golden plating. It was reasonable, Harry thought. After all, she hadn't asked to be in a relationship with an overly pessimistic and mostly bitter Harry Potter. But then was then and this was now and now Harry's found himself a shell of his former self. He's not sure if he still loved Ginny, perhaps a strong fondness, but fondness isn't love and Harry had been feeling fondness for the past year or so. So, when Ginny had revealed her plans to leave the country, Harry was ashamed to admit he was just a little relieved. She had said the distance would be good for them. You know what they say: <em>Absence makes the heart grow fonder.</em> Well, Harry doesn't know how much more fondness he could take. He took out his wand from its holster, a flick and a spell and he was being wooshed away. </p><p>He had gotten used to his daily routine alone: come home, undress, grab a beer or two or three from his fridge, and drink the night away until he was too drunk to make sense of Kreacher's scoldings. That was the best type of drunk, wasn't it? When words felt like they were underwater and his head was swimming. Then, the process would repeat. And he's ok with that. Ron and Hermione are happy and yeah, he's happy too with Ginny he guesses. This is fine and everything was fine and it would all work out and Ginny and him would be fine and-</p><p>"You're home!" </p><p>Harry blinked, standing in the Floo portal of his home. Draco was laying on the couch, sprawled across like a particularly pampered cat, head in his palm. Harry walked inside the living room, beginning to undo his scarf and jacket. "Have you been watching TV all day?" </p><p>"You know," Draco drawled, "I had never really thought much about Muggles. I thought they were all unfortunate degenerates." Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes, but Draco continued. "But I was wrong. They really are fascinating. I mean, I've been watching this….tellie-vision all day and I've learned many things about the Muggle World." </p><p>"Oh?" Harry's eyebrow raised. Attempting to hide his smile, he hung up jacket in the coat closet. "And what's that?" </p><p>"Well," the blonde began, "Muggles seem to be absolutely enthralled with something called...soap-operas. I have no idea what they have to do with soap, but they're quite entertaining. Listen to this, the girl in this show fell in love with her husband's father! Isn't that mad?" </p><p>Harry simply hummed, "Muggles tend to enjoy drama. The more dramatic, the better," he stated, walking over towards the kitchen. </p><p>"Well, if they like drama so much, perhaps a soap-opera could be made of my family tree. There are some rather sordid details that I'm sure would titillate any muggle. For example, my cousin-" Draco stopped mid-word. Perhaps Harry wouldn't cherish hearing about Draco's family, considering they had once conspired to murder him. The blonde simply shut his pink lips and refocused on the tv screen, his grip tight on the remote. </p><p>Harry pretended as if he hadn't noticed Draco's hesitation. He shouldn't push him, he knows. Draco probably had dealt with a lot and Harry wasn't going to be the one to make him face unpleasant memories. He entered the kitchen and was greeted by what seemed like a hurricane. All around him were dirty utensils, vegetable scraps, crumbled up napkins. And on the stove was a single bubbling pot, the metal lid clamoring as it steamed and spat. Harry was quick to turn off the fire, nervous that the entire house would burn down with how high it was. "What the-" he muttered, fishing around for a cloth to use to lift the scorching hot lid. The steam hit his face immediately, making his glasses fog up. Harry put down the lid and took off his glasses, wiping them down on his shirt, and then placing them back on. He waved away some of the steam and peered inside curiously. </p><p>Soup. It was vegetable soup. Harry turned back at Draco and cleared his throat, "Uh...I see you cooked?" </p><p>Draco peered over to Harry and then back at the TV, "I got hungry and I wasn't about to wait for you to get home. You don't have to look so suspicious. It's not poisoned or anything." He spat back. </p><p>Harry glanced back at the soup. It was innocent looking enough, just broth and floating vegetables. Harry went over to pull a spoon out from the utensils drawer and back to the soup, nervously looking down at it. He shouldn't be thinking these things about Draco. He wasn't who he was anymore and Harry knows that. Looking back down in the soup, Harry could see his reflection looking back at him. He delicately dipped the spoon in, bringing up a single mouthful of broth, one carrot chunk, and what looked possibly like celery. Harry could feel Draco's eyes on him from the sofa. Harry brought the spoon to his mouth, slightly hesitated, and then finally wrapped his lips around it. </p><p>It was bland. Lacked salt. And the vegetables were borderline mush. And yet, Harry poured himself an entire bowl and brought it to the dining room table. </p><p>Draco watched on with curious eyes as Harry tucked into his serving. After five minutes with no comment, Draco got up from the couch and stretched his limbs above his head and walked towards the kitchen. Harry listened as Draco poured himself a bowl as well, little feet pattering upon the floor and finally settling down in the seat across from him. Harry glanced up at him, watching from his periphery as Draco took a small sip of the soup, wrinkling his pert nose, and then putting the spoon back down with a groan. "This tastes awful! Why didn't you say anything?" He whined, pouring the soup back into the pot with a huff.  </p><p>Harry shrugged, "I didn't want to...complain? It's not that terrible," he murmured as he swirled his spoon through the broth. </p><p>"Well, I've never exactly cooked before. Never needed to before this. And I couldn't exactly conjure up a meal anymore," Draco lamented, picking up the ladle and dumping it in the sink with frustration. </p><p>"Honestly Malfoy, it's a valiant effort," Harry added, watching as the blond stared down at his soup with disappointment. </p><p>"You don't have to fake kindness, Potter. I'm not that precious." Draco leaned against the cabinets and Harry watched as he fiddled with the kitchen dish cloth. His shirt was slightly dirty, a pale yellow spot staining it's white fabric. Draco had tied up his now shoulder length hair, the loose strands around his ears flying every which way, no doubt from toiling over the bubbling soup. It was evident that he had worked hard on his project and the fact made Harry's stomach bubble warm and it wasn't just from the soup. </p><p>"I'm not! Seriously, I can't cook at all so this is...this is good." Harry insisted, looking back down at the broth. </p><p>"Really?" Draco asked, not entirely looking at Harry. He would rather fuss with his cuticles, perhaps too embarrassed to look at the brunette in the eyes.</p><p>"Yeah, really," Harry nodded, "And besides, the lack of poison is really a good touch." A smirk curled on Harry's lips when he saw Draco's cheeks turn pink and a slight chuckle erupted from his chest. </p><p>"Oh fuck off," Draco whined. This time, it was playful and a bit bashful, not like the usual venom filled rhetoric that Harry was used to from the blonde. It was the first time that Harry had truly thought Draco was <em>cute</em>. Completely and unadulterated. Draco Malfoy was a cute boy. He had always known Draco was attractive; after all, he's heard his fair share of girls at Hogwarts drool and pant over the blonde boy. Harry was always surprised that Draco never chose to date any of his many admirers since he surely had the pick of the bunch. But Harry had never really thought Draco to be cute. Handsome, sure. Reasonably attractive, yeah. But <em>cute</em>? Cute was never a word he thought he would associate with Draco. It was reserved for sweet things like...like children's dolls and woodland creatures. Harry doesn't even think he's called Ginny cute before (she would probably hit him on the chest and insist that she wasn't cute, but sexy instead.) But now that he thinks back, Draco had always been just a little bit cute. He's always been just slightly coy, even if he was a bit of a tosser. And his 'princess brat' attitude had been annoying, but also rather charming (when he wasn't being a giant git). But this Draco… this stain covered, pink cheeked, nervous smile and tied up hair Draco…</p><p>Well, he was the cutest of all. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>https://images.app.goo.gl/qJRLUXX1bfsBE8fB8<br/>Inspiration for Draco's room</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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